


There's A Room Where The Light Won't Find You

by PBJellie



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, Divorce, Drinking, F/M, Past Child Abuse, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBJellie/pseuds/PBJellie
Summary: Butters reflects on his life after a funeral. Wendy, his lawyer, facilitates in his reflection.





	There's A Room Where The Light Won't Find You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> This was supposed to be more of a love story. Hope you enjoy it.

“They were,” Butters gasped, pulling on his rented suit, “they were parents. We had, uh,” he choked back a sob, scanning the mostly empty church. Sheila and Gerald were in the front row. Liane sat alone in the middle, dotting her face with a white handkerchief. 

“Differences, but they were still my parents and I loved them. I think.”

The look on Mrs. Tucker's face let him know that he shouldn't have said that last bit. Mr. Tucker hadn't come, neither had the Tweak's or the Marsh's. Butters understood why the Tweak's were missing, after the uproar when they realized about the drugs, naturally the town drifted away from them. Maybe Randy was sick. Sharron and his mom had always been close, well as close as she got with anyone. 

“Thanks for coming,” he coughed, stepping out from the behind the podium. There was a smattering of applause, then a loud sneeze from Mr. Slave. Butters saw Big Gay Al elbow him in the side as he took his seat alone. 

All in all he had counted ten people, including himself. He was glad he opted for the cremation; There wouldn't be enough pallbearers. In reality the house fire started the job, and there wasn't much else that the crematorium had to do. 

Butters screwed up his face as he thought of it. He had just been hired as an overnight cashier at the Walgreens. His employment record was spotty, more so than any thirty-year-olds should be. Dad just always wanted him home, fixing his mistakes. How could he bag groceries if he couldn't remember to put the cap on the toothpaste. It wasn't a surprise when he was let go, with all the mistakes he made. 

The fire chief said that the carbon monoxide probably killed them, that it was like they went to sleep and never woke up. The old man who was outside his charred house said he was lucky to be at work. 

It was hard to feel lucky after learning your parents were dead. 

“Oh Bubahla,” Sheila was in a black dress with a matching lace veil on her head, crying hysterically. “It's just awful. They were such great people.” 

“They sure were,” Butters lied. 

“Son,” Mr. Broflovski frowned, eyes dry, “if you need a lawyer for the estate, I've got a few recommendations.” 

“The estate?” Butters asked, turning to to see the rest of the crowd filing out. 

“Right, the home insurance settlement, any assets that survived the fire, retirement accounts, you know, the like,” Gerald smiled as he dug through an expensive looking leather wallet. 

“Gerald, now is not the time for this. Have some tact,” Sheila scolded, blotting her eyes with a tissue. 

“It's pragmatic, they won't be less dead tomorrow. Here,” Mr. Broflovski handed him a white business card, “the Testaburger girl handles estates. She's in North Park, Winnie? The one Stanley used to date.” 

“Wendy,” Butters softly corrected, looking at the card. He tucked it into his pants pocket. He did not have a fancy wallet like Mr. Broflovski. 

“Right, Cindy.” 

“Such a sweet girl,” Sheila fanned herself with her hand.

“Thanks, I'll give her a call. I appreciate you coming. They always really liked you,” Butters lied again. His dad routinely said terrible things about Mr. Broflovski, like how he was a money hungry Jew. Butters figured it didn't make a difference now. 

Sheila pulled him into a mother hug, not that he had gotten many of those. His thoughts roamed to how pillowly her chest was, and how he'd never touched breasts that plentiful. He blushed as she pulled away. Hopefully she chalked it up to crying, not account of him being a pervert. 

And then he was alone in the church, his parents pictures in black frames he'd picked up on his way home from work. Their ashes were already in the mausoleum, and the priest said not to worry about the clean up. Not that the small gathering had made any sort of mess. 

He tucked the photos under his arm, not wanting to ever have to rescan his dad's Facebook. They weren't even good pictures, but after an hour of looking Butters decided he didn't want to see another meme about Democrats. 

Some of the things his dad had shared were just plain nasty. 

Sometimes his dad was just plain nasty. 

It occurred to him that these were not nice thoughts to think about his recently deceased parents as he drove home. No, not home, because home had burnt to the studs. He thought about it as he drove to his motel room. 

He hadn't talked to Wendy in ages. She and Stan rocketed out of town the moment they got their diplomas. The rumor mill said they went somewhere warm, to be near the coast. That was what Cartman said, anyway. Butters was never sure enough to trust him, sometimes he thought that they had been murdered. That Cartman had their corpses in his backyard. 

It was not the time to be so morbid, he thought as he parked the car. His main concern should be on maintaining his composure, not thinking about dead people. Especially dead folks that had, apparently, never died. 

Well, Stan could still be dead. 

Butters shook the thought from his mind as he unlocked the motel room with a key card. It took a few times, his fingers fumbled with the magnetic strip. He had already gotten two new keys in the week he had lived here. This one had the number for Domino's on the bottom, and a picture of a pizza smack in the middle of it. 

The pepperoni looked awfully good, but Butters was trying to stretch his funds. The motel was expensive, at least on his minimum wage budget. Jimbo had been real nice, agreeing to float him until he got paid at his new job. He owed a total of $476.75 on the day of his first check. 

Butters couldn't get a clear answer from Ike on whether his hours would be a week delayed or two. He tried to be positive. At least he had a little bit in his savings to tide him over. Not enough to pay the motel bill, but enough to eat a TV dinner as he watched cable news. 

Dad never let him change the channel. Having full control of the remote was new to him, and he found the he scanned the dial, then settled for the news. It's what was always on at home. 

It felt a little more like home to have the droning complaints in the background as he chewed processed turkey. The bed creaked as he shifted his feet underneath himself. His twin bed never made that sort of noise, that that it existed anymore. 

Not that his life really existed anymore. 

He sniffled as the ticker tape flashed across the screen. He placed his dinner on the wooden nightstand, glancing at the block letters on the alarm clock. 4:30 PM.

Butters picked up the smoke stained phone from a peeling receiver. He fingered the business card in his pocket. Wendy would be a decent way to kill thirty minutes. 

He wiped at his face, smearing cheap gravy across his cheek. He never realized how often he referenced death in his day to day life. Had he always been so morbid? 

He figured it was just the situation as the phone beeped in his ear. This was a new experience for him. No one had ever died before, well not that he knew. Even his grandma was still alive, probably fueled solely by her bitterness.

“So bitter, she'll live forever,” he mumbled into the receiver. 

“Hello?” A femine voice rang in his ear. 

“Oh, hamburgers, I hope you didn't hear that. I love my Grams. Honest.” 

“Is this another prank call? I'm hanging up/” 

“No! This isn't a prank. Geeze, this is Butters. Remember me, from school?” He stared at the water ring next to his empty plastic tray. 

“What is it, Butters? Come to rub your success in my face? Wedding invitation? Getting your doctorate? Oh, let me guess, you're letting me know that it's your first child's christening? I'm not interested; thanks, but no thanks,” Butters felt his ears burn as she spoke. 

“No, uh, I'm single and work at the Walgreens. I hope you're doing okay, Wendy,” he tried to keep his sniffling down as he spoke. 

“Why are you calling me? Did Cartman put you up to this? Fuck those guys, and you know what, fuck you, too.”

“So you handle estates? That's neat-o. In North Park? I hear its' nice.” 

“I don't have time for small talk. If I wanted to catch up with you I would have just used Facebook, like everyone else. I have a job. Not everyone can sponge off of their parent's teat until they die,” Butter's let out a sob, covering his mouth with a stiff sleeve. 

“About that,” Butter's look at the stain above his head. With tears in his eyes it sort of looked like a cat licking it's paw. Maybe the tears were obscuring his vision more than he thought, because last night, as he drifted off, he could have swore it looked like a chicken peeking the ground. 

“Oh, Butters,” he voice softened. “Do you need an estate lawyer?” 

“Yeah, something like that,” he mumbled. He sniffed at his sleeve again. When was the last time this suit was cleaned? 

“I'm so sorry for your loss. That was unprofessional. You have my condolences.” 

“Shucks, don't worry about it, Wendy. Mr. Broflovski gave me your number at the funeral today. I didn't realize that I had to do all this until Gerald let me know. They were always so sweet, you know, the Broflovski's. Sheila offered to bake a pie, but I don't know what I'd do with one of those.” 

The TV changed to an ad for a soda, the diet kind. His nose crinkled in disgust, he never like diet soda. It tasted fake to him. 

“Butters, who died?” 

“My folks. There was a fire,” he let out a hollow laugh. “I'm calling you from a motel phone. Jimbo gave me a good deal. He was always such a nice guy. Remember that time he sold us all switchblades? Good ol' Jimbo.” 

“You're parents? Both of them?” She sounded so gentle, like she was picking up and cooing at a baby.

“Yeah,” he choked out. That lady sure looked happy with her soda. 

“Do you know if they had a will? Or a safety deposit box?” 

“I don't know nothing about that stuff.” 

“Are you their only child?” 

“I think so? Dad had affairs and stuff, but I think it was just with fellas,” Butters blushed, remembering his father's seedier dealings. 

Once, when he worked at Walmart, his dad brought a man to the checkout. They bought condoms, the medium size, and a bottle of lube that boosted of sensations. His dad berated him the whole time, saying he didn't scan fast enough. It was three in the morning, so maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but he thought the blond man next to him looked an awful lot like Tweek.

“I've got an opening in my schedule, if you want to come in tomorrow afternoon. It's best to handle these sorts of details in person.” 

“I've got the day off,” his manager, Ike, had instead he take the time. Saying he'd be too moody in front of the customers. 

“4:00 PM? You'll be my last client of the day, so we can run over, if need be,” he could hear a pen clicking as she spoke. 

“I don't have any money. How much am I supposed to pay you? I guess I didn't think this through. Typical Butters, huh?” Butters sighed, looking back at the angry man on the news. 

“Hush,” she scolded, “free consultation for an old friend. I'm not Gerald.”

“Well, thanks!” He tried to perk up, but instead his voice just sounded strained. “It means a lot Wendy, honest.” 

Before he knew it, the dial tone sounded. He didn't even get to say goodbye. This seemed to be a theme in his life. 

 

 

He almost overslept. How rude would it have been to sleep through this meeting with a friend? It was a favor to him; she didn't have to see him. Butters sighed, parking his car in front of the strip mall. 

Was this the right place? Wendy was a lawyer, surely she had a big fancy building, not a store front with red light up letters that read Estate Services. He went in, hesitating as the door chimed. 

“Come in, come in, the heat doesn't work that well, we can't just leave the door open,” she chided from a desk in the center of the room. A ragtag couch was pushed into the corner with a water cooler dripping every so often.

“Nice to see you, Wendy, you look real nice,” Butters mumbled as he shut the door. Don't let it bang against the frame, Butters. Repairs aren't cheap, Butters. He shuddered as he sat on the leather chair across from her desk, the one she was pointing at. 

“Just sit down, Butters. You're not going to break the chair,” she hissed, pressing her hands into her face. “So sorry for your loss,” she said through clenched teeth. 

“Aw, gee, thanks for that, Wendy. You were always so sweet. Remember when we used to play that super hero game together? You were always the best at finding things out, it makes sense that'd you grow up and be a lawyer. You and Stan were so cute in your costumes,” Butters let out a nervous laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Stan just raided his Dad's tools, that felt like cheating, but you know Stan.”

“Stan knows a lot about cheating. I didn't know he was gay, I obviously wasn't that good,” Wendy spat, flipping through a notebook. “Let's just get to work, we can talk after. This should be short.” 

“Alrighty then,” Butters agreed, tapping his fingers on the wooden desk. 

“So, simple version, you're next of kin so I'll speak to the courts on your behalf and get it all sorted. Just need to sign some papers so I can do that. Sound alright?” Butters nodded numbly as she handed him a heavy pen. 

Was it made of antler? How did she get an antler pen? He thought better of asking her, her eyebrows knitted together as one manicured nail pointed to an x on the paper in front of him. He had signed it with a heart before he had thought about it, big and loopy with a tiny heart to tie it together at the end. Red faced, he signed again, at the next location. This continued for a few minutes, his signature never turning into something worthy of an adult. 

His Dad didn't sign his name with a heart. No, his Dad was a man, a real man. 

“You know, you shouldn't sign things without reading them. People could be trying to rip you off,” Wendy laughed, leaning back in her chair. 

“Oh, hamburgers, I didn't even look. They warned me not to do that sorta thing, that I couldn't live alone, and they were right.” 

“It was a joke, calm down,” her eyes were wide as Butters pulled a tissue from her desk. It was scratchy against his face, but cleaner than his sweater sleeve. He didn't have a washer in the motel. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, staring at his feet. One of his shoelaces was untied, stupid Butters. 

“How about we get a drink, huh? You look like you could use a drink. I could also use a drink.” 

“I don't have any money,” he sniffled, wadding the tissue up in his hand. “I would really like some Dr. Pepper though. That kind's my favorite, as far as drinks go.” 

“Great,” she snorted, “I'll get you a Dr. Pepper and I'll get a martini. How does that sound?” 

“I'll pay you back when I get some cash,” he whispered, following her back into the cold as she ripped her coat off of a hook by her desk. 

“Hush, my treat. You're three dollar drink is nothing compared to the tab I'm about to run up. Divorce is not fun, Stotch, let me tell you that,” she spat, holding the door open as he scurried out. She locked it, cursing about how the lights were still on. 

Apparently it wasn't too big of an issue, she just shrugged and kept walking to her car. Her nice car, a pretty silver color that looked like it had never hit the garbage cans. It was Butter's fault the cans were in the road at the first place. It was his job to bring them in, and he had forgotten. It made his dad awful sore. 

Lots of things made his dad awful sore.

“Skeeters,” she shouted, car beeping as she shoved her briefcase into the open back. The trunk rose all by itself, like a fancy car in the commercials. It made sense for a lawyer, of course she'd have a nice car. She was important. 

He followed her car. Both the blinkers worked and when she stopped the lights flashed three times before turning solid red. Butters didn't think his car did that, but he'd never been behind his car. 

“Get out of the car, Butters. It's fucking cold. Skirts don't work like pants, even with hose.”

Her hand rapped on the window, until he hopped out, flustered. He rushed to keep up with her, her feet clicking in the parking lot as she stormed up to the entrance. She held the door open for him, which was sweet. She didn't have to do that. 

She didn't have to be his lawyer, either, or take him for a drink. Wendy was always doing things she didn't have to do. Even when they were kids, she did extra.

He followed her to the bar, smiling at the bartender as she rattled off their orders. She was getting two drinks for herself, martinis dirty, which sounded gross. Why would you want a dirty drink? Do they not wash the glass? She ordered his Dr. Pepper, clarifying that it was just Dr. Pepper. He was grateful, because he didn't like diet, not really. 

“So Butters, still go by Butters? I didn't even ask that, my apologies,” she took a swig of her drink, olive swirling around the bottom of the glass. Butters sipped at his drink, the tiny straw slipping between his teeth. 

“Yeah, I mean, mostly. My folks called me Butters, a lot, so Butters it is,” he shyly stated, watching that olive drift around. She finished the drink, sucking the olive into her mouth and crunching in her teeth. Her lipstick imprinted onto her glass, a little sticking to her teeth. 

“You could call yourself anything, you know? You could be anyone, you don't have to be Butters,” she clanged her drink against his, then slammed it on the counter. 

“I've just always been Butters, it'd be hard to be someone else.” 

She snorted, tipping her second drink back and finishing it in one gulp. He didn't even think she chewed the olive. She waved her hand at the bartender, nodding when he brought her a new drink. Two olives this time, they must really like her. 

“Well, I was married for a while, it's hard to be not married. Hah, Christ, I hate him so much,” she spat, handing her empties to the bartender. Butters wasn't finished with his drink, was he supposed to be? He slammed it back, flinching when the ice hit his teeth. 

“Who?” Butters asked, pinky cushioning the glass as it was placed back onto the bar. Skeeter would be sour if he broke a glass. What would his folks think? Wait, he didn't have folks. He sighed, scooting the glass away from him. 

“Stanley Marsh, son of a bitch is gay, can you believe it?” She didn't give him a chance to answer. “Of course you can, because you were in that gay little club in high school. What was it, debate, debate was just code for gay boy club, wasn't it? Tweek was there, Stan and Kyle, and then you and Kenny, oh don't make that face, I saw the way Kenny looked at you.” 

“Kenny looked at me?” Butters asked, tracing patterns into the condensation. “I don't know nothing about all that, but it's too bad that Stan's gay.” 

“No, no it's not. He was a train wreck, anyway. Good riddance, have a fun time, Kyle. I didn't drink like this before his bullshit. We drank all the time. He always wanted to drink. Constantly. Even in a new place, a place that didn't suck.” Her hand was in the air again, waving for another drink, pointing to him as well. “Serves me right for being a shrew who put her career ahead of her relationship.”

“Well, shucks, I think you're real sweet, not a shrew.”

“Thanks Butters, even if you were always a pushover. You thought everyone was sweet. Wasn't Cartman your best friend for a bit?” She sipped at the new drink, not searching for the bottom. Her face was read as she smiled at him, tossing her head back. 

“Yeah, well that was some bad judgment. I make bad decisions too, lots of them.” 

“Really? I doubt it. Stan fucked Kyle in our bathroom. I came home from the office to Kyle bent over our toilet taking my husbands dick. Man, Kyle can take a dick though. It's something to be envious of, he just seems so malleable.” 

Butters couldn't think of any time he had messed up like that, but he nodded along anyways. Wendy was real distracting. He had almost forgotten why he was upset as she animatedly waved her arms in the air, telling the story of how there was semen on her favorite bathrobe. 

Butters had never owned a bathrobe. Was that a normal adult purchase? 

“Christ,” she hissed, then giggled as she set down drink number five. Butters had drank three Dr. Peppers, which he was certain was more than was recommended in a day. “Or Moses. Buddha. I don't know, who ever gives a fuck to listen, I need to sober up.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling as she flipped him off. “I gotta work in the morning.” 

“Gotta sleep off that sugar rush?” She teased, teetering off of her stool. She threw down some cash onto the bar, resting her empty glass on top of the notes. She scrolled through her phone, muttering about finding an Uber. 

“Let me take you home, I'm good to drive,” he rung his hands together, fidgeting with his keys. 

“No funny business,” she warned, shoving her phone into her purse.

“I'm not that funny,” he responded, eyebrows knitted together. 

“Look at me,” she stumbled. He reached out to steady her, wrapping her arm around his shoulder. He winced as he wedged his hand under her armpit. It was just to help her walk, nothing dirty. He tried hard not to touch her boob.

“I'm lookin'.”

“Such a mess. Your parents are dead and I'm bitching about my divorce,” she snickered before bursting into tears in his front seat. 

“I don't miss them that much, I don't think. Don't worry about me none. Where do you live?” 

“The apartments, the new ones, eleven, that's the number. Eleven.” 

The drive was peppered with laughter and tears, all from Wendy. He had never seen her like this. He had never seen anyone like this. Well his mom, but that hardly counted. Everyone's Mom cried like that. What kind of week would it be if your mom wasn't crying on the couch as she watched Animal Planet? Animal Planet never made Butters sad. Just that one commercial with the puppies in cages, that one was the worst. 

Butters pried her out of the car, helping her find the key that opened the door. 

“You're such a good guy,” she slurred, leaning against him in her entryway. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, steadying her as she kicked off her shoes. One hit the wall with a thud. He didn't even flinch. Okay, he flinched, but it was only a little.

“Wanna come to bed?” She questioned, breathing into his ear. 

“Nah, I got a bed at the motel. Remember, Jimbo let me stay. You remember, Jimbo?” He rambled. 

“I don't want to talk about Jimbo, you know what I want to do?” Her face was close to his. She had pretty eye make up, all shades of brown, but some of it was shimmery. It suited her well. 

“What?” His muscles clenched when she kissed him, smack on the lips, tongue and all. He pushed her away, slamming his mouth shut as soon as she her tongue was gone. 

“No, not tonight, Wendy,” he whispered, opening the door that he hoped was her bedroom. “Tonight, you're gonna go to bed? Okay?” 

“Why don't men like me?” She sobbed, ripping out of his arms as she flung herself into a pile of pillows. “You're gay, aren't you?”

“No, not all the way,” he blushed. 

“Am I not pretty enough?” 

“No, it's not that. It just wouldn't be right. That's all Wendy.” 

“Why? Because I had a divorce? You're better than me because you haven't been divorced? Above me? I'm a lawyer, for fucks sake!” 

“No, you're plenty good. You're just drunk, real drunk, and it wouldn't be right to take advantage of you like this. That'd make me a bad guy, and I'm not. I'm a good guy,” he shut the door to her bedroom, letting her cry in piece. 

He figured it wouldn't be right to leave her alone. He'd never been drunk, that drunk, before, but one time when Kenny gave him Kevin's moonshine he got sad, and he got sick. He wanted to have someone near him, so it was only right for him to wait it out. In case Wendy needed someone.

As he curled up on her couch, underneath a wool throw laid out as a decoration. He couldn't find the channel for the cable news. The room felt quiet without someone shouting and complaining about the world. He kinda liked it.

He set an alarm on his iPod to get him up at six, so he could make sure Wendy got to work. She was his lawyer, after all. 

He thought it'd be sweet to surprise her with breakfast. That's what all the fellas in his favorite movies did, make a girl breakfast to let her know she was special. And Wendy was special, even if they didn't do it last night. 

There wasn't any eggs, so he couldn't do much of anything. After a few minutes of rummaging around he settled for two slices of toasts with a thin coating of fake butter. He cracked open the door to see her sleeping in yesterday's outfit on top of the covers. Her mouth was a little bit open as she drooled, but she still looked nice. 

Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her as he called her name. She jolted awake, springing up after ten seconds. 

“Butters, why are you here?” She rasped, pressing her fingertips to her temples. 

“I made you some breakfast,” he offered her the paper towel with the toast. He couldn't find her plates. 

“Did we? Oh my God,” she stared at her crotch, pulling her skirt down, “Are you fucking serious?” 

“I don't know what you're talking about. It's six thirty, so you might want to get up. You have an important job, right?” 

“No way,” she muttered, taking the toast. “Did we have sex, Butters?” 

“No ma'am,” he blushed, feeling the tips of his ears heat up. “Not that you aren't nice, you are. Real nice, your breasts look real soft and all, not that I touched them on purpose. Plus you're real pretty, but you were drunk, and that wouldn't have been right of me.”

“Uh, thanks,” she stalled, biting the toast. “Stan never made breakfast. This is,” she coughed, spewing crumbs over her comforter, “new.” 

“Do you need a ride to your car?” 

“Yeah, I'd like that,” she nodded, running her fingers though her hair. “Maybe next time we can go out to eat? No drinks.” 

“We'd get awfully thirsty, wouldn't we?” Butters chuckled, rocking back and forth on his feet. 

“What was the place you liked so much as a kid? It's on the tip of my tongue, Benny's? No, not the dinner. The Irish one,” Butters face lit up, breaking out in a true smile. 

“Bennigan's! Oh really? We could go to Bennigan's? That place is my favorite!” 

She laughed, stretching as she got out of bed. “Yeah, after work, I owe you Bennigan's. I won't even talk about my stupid piece of shit ex-husband.” 

“And I won't talk about my folks,” he agreed, not really thinking too much of them anyway. He had a feeling he was going to be able to live just fine on his own, and maybe, just maybe, his dad was wrong the whole time.


End file.
